


Tell Me Like You Mean It

by epeolatry



Series: Revolutions in My Mind (Revolutions in Your Bed) [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Emotions, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre and Enjolras talk like responsible (if emotionally stunted) adults while Grantaire and Eponine bicker good naturedly with too much booze involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Like You Mean It

“What do you think about my relationship with Grantaire?”

 

“An unlikely coupling, but one which thus far seems to have only been beneficial to the both of you, and a relief to all of those who know you.”

 

Enjolras nodded across the kitchen table, his eyes like Combeferre’s opposite him still fixed on the screen of his laptop, but his thoughts elsewhere.

 

“So you support it?”

 

“You know I do. Grantaire is a kind, genuine, intelligent person who has quickly made friends with our whole group. Okay, he may have some unsavoury habits – his scepticism toward our causes and his problematic drinking spring to mind – but these seem to be mitigated by you. And likewise, your own less desirable traits – you know what I mean, Mr Obsessive-Compulsive-Emotions-Are-Not-My-Forte-And-Who-Really-Needs-To-Sleep-Anyway – seem to be softened by his presence. Not to mention how useful he is at meetings; your arguments have never met so effective a whetstone as his cold cynicism.”

 

Enjolras nodded again, both boys still focused on their computer screens, then he exhaled slowly and said in a steady voice, “I think I’m in love with him.”

 

“Yes, I think you probably are. Congratulations.”

 

“What do I do?”

 

“Tell him. I’m quite sure he feels the same so you’ve nothing to fear.”

 

“It doesn’t _frighten_ me,” interjected Enjolras, looking up at Combeferre for the first time, “It’s just… distracting. I mean I like it, it’s nice, and he’s amazing in so many ways that he doesn’t even appreciate, but I feel happy and _silly_ and I can’t stop thinking about him… Love is worryingly visceral. I’ve never experienced anything like it, it’s like having a disease.”

 

Combeferre chuckled, “Don’t let Joly hear you saying that.”

 

“How does he _do_ it?” marvelled Enjolras, “He’s got _two_ of them! He’d probably agree with me… This is serious ‘Ferre, it’s like an addiction, when I’m not with him I feel sad and ill, my stomach churns, then when I see him I get all nervous, my hands sweat, my mouth goes dry, I sometimes start shaking – it’s ridiculous! I feel like Marius! Is this my punishment for suggesting that he break up with Cosette for the good of the group?”

 

“Very likely.”

 

“Ugh. It’s definitely worse when I’m _not_ with him, that creeping ache in my stomach… I just want to be with him all the time! I can’t concentrate on anything when I’m thinking about him, I’m behind in my classes, I’m distracted during meetings, I sleep even less than usual, all because I can’t bear to be away from him… It’s so disruptive, yet I crave every second of it. I think I’m going mad.”

 

Combeferre smiled wryly, “I think you are without a doubt in love.”

 

Enjolras had a rare defeated look in his eyes as he asked, “But what do I _do_ about it? Is the intensity going to subside? Do I even want it to? I’m out of my depth entirely, and you know I hate that.”

 

“I know,” smiled Combeferre kindly, “But if you find being separated from Grantaire so distressing why not simply spend more time together? He could move in here, you’ll be able to see him whenever you like, and your concentration should return.”

 

Enjolras looked warily at his flatmate; it was so simple! Too simple…

 

“But would you be okay with that? I mean, Grantaire living here would effect everyone, not just me.”

 

Combeferre shrugged, “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I thought the idea was untenable. The house is big enough for five, Marius is away so often at Cosette’s that he hardly counts as a flatmate anymore, and Courfeyrac brings home enough strangers that a familiar face emerging from one of your bedrooms would be a nice change. I take it you’d be sharing a bed..?” he added, his expression neutral.

 

“I… imagine so,” faltered Enjolras; would they? He would certainly want to, but Grantaire’s habit of casual nudity, coupled with his often extremely vocal reactions to Enjolras’ attention to said nudity could make the situation awkward…

 

“I’ll speak to Courfeyrac and Marius about it first of course, before asking Grantaire. Can I trust you not to say anything until then?”

 

Combeferre smiled warmly, “You know you can.”

 

Enjolras returned the smile, “I know”; and they each returned their gazes to the laptops in front of them, the rest of the evening silence but for the steady tapping of keyboards and the occasional quiet moan issuing from Courfeyrac’s room.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god ‘Ponine, _I love him so much!”_

 

“Uh huh, I got that part. And now you’re dating him, so why are you still crying about it?”

 

“Because any day now he’s going to realise what a useless twat I am and leave! It’s only a matter of time until he figures out that I’m nowhere near good enough for him… We should never have gotten together, it’ll be so much worse when he breaks up with me – at least before I didn’t know what I was missing!”

 

Éponine rolled her eyes; generally she was quite tolerant of Grantaire’s drunken emotional breakdowns, as he was of hers, but this particular outburst of self-doubt she found difficult to sympathise with.

 

“’Aire, you’re not a useless twat and he’s not going to leave you. You’re just spiralling into a pit of depression because that’s what people like us do when we get even a whiff of happiness. Pull yourself together and accept the fact that Enjolras is in love with you.”

 

“He isn’t,” sniffed Grantaire bitterly, slamming back another mouthful of gin and making a face at the sting of it.

 

Éponine scoffed, “Of course he is. _You_ might have missed it but everyone else sees the way he looks at you. He skips classes for you ‘Aire! Mr Summa-Cum-fucking-Laude! And let’s not forget than an asexual virgin – sorry, _demisexual_ virgin – is now almost as big a slut as you, _because of you_!” She flicked one of the three dark purple love bites on Grantaire’s throat to underline her point, “He loves you, you just don’t love yourself enough to see it.”

 

“Then why hasn’t he _said_ it?” asked Grantaire brokenly as Éponine snatched the gin bottle from him.

 

“Have _you_ said it yet?” she shot back before taking a swig and very pointedly _not_ making the same face of distaste that Grantaire had.

 

“No, but- ”

 

“There you go then. He’s probably just as nervous as you. More I’d guess, considering he’s never even been so much as attracted to another person, let alone fallen in love.”

 

Grantaire whimpered and looked at the ground, his eyes unfocused as Éponine continued, “So you clearly need to start it. Just tell him! It won’t be the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said to someone by a long shot! Only, I think you should do it sober,” she added as an afterthought, knocking Grantaire’s battered phone out of his fumbling hands and watching it spin away under the kitchen table.

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” mumbled Grantaire, taking back the bottle to dull the nerves already twisting his stomach in anticipation of declaring his love for Enjolras.

 

“Please,” scoffed Éponine, “I’m always right and you know it.”


End file.
